


Exit Light, Enter Night

by Aria_Masterson1153



Series: Warpaint [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: DR. JONATHAN TOEWS, Do I really need to tag for that?, Ikea couch stealing, M/M, Mentions of Death (but cause of death is not stated in explicit detail), Pat is the Joker, Swearing?, crude humour, yes please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>"It is my belief that you suffer from a manic state of depression, delusions of grandeur, likely as a result of an antisocial personality disorder.”<br/><br/>“Wow, doc. Got anything else to slap on? You see what you want to see, what you specialize in. I’m undefinable to the masses, a <i>Joker</i> of all trades, if you will. I’m everyone’s worst case scenario.”<br/><br/>(Pat is the Joker and Jon's an up-and-coming psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum that the Joker has taken a shining to.)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Light, Enter Night

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Just off the bat, **THIS IS NOT A STAND ALONE FIC!**  
>   
>  There is one fic before this, called Warpaint, that needs to be read to understand what is going on in this.  
>   
> Or.. y'know, read it anyway. Go on, be a rebel, MAKE MY DAY!  
>   
>  _Title is from the ever so peaceful Enter Sandman by Metallica!_  
> 

  
The weeks seemed to pass quickly from Jon’s time at the dinner party and meeting the Joker. He was keeping a close eye on the news, reserving his attention for a certain clown-themed villain. It certainly seemed that he was up no to good, conning both the mob of Gotham and its citizens. There were also many deaths attributed to his name, including many of the mob, Commissioner Loeb, Rachel Dawes, and nearly Harvey Dent, though in Jon’s opinion, he wasn’t living a great life at the moment, with half of his face burned off. The Joker was busy, and Jon had not experienced the displeasure of running into him at any time.  
  
Which was good, Jon supposed. He was safe, the Joker wasn’t bothering to kidnap Jon in a defensive move. Still, Jon hadn’t once felt during their meeting that he was in danger. Only something of amusement in the Joker’s eyes. _He could be like that_ , Jon thought. Sometimes he’d shoot you, sometimes he’d give you a flower. The flower may be filled with explosives, or it may be filled with money.  
  
But more recently, the Joker was finding subtle ways to communicate with Jon. Just the other day, Jon found an opened pack of cards on his deck, yet when he opened the pack, they were full of only Joker cards. No threats to his life, thankfully, but the Joker was definitely reminding Jon of his presence.  
  
What shocked Jon the most was how the Joker managed to deliver the pack of cards to Arkham Asylum. The many checkpoints to get to Arkham Asylum, including the ferry ride to the island, were strictly regulated in itself, never mind the fact that the Joker had to somehow bypass the immense security force at Arkham Asylum. Jon was hoping that the Joker had maintained his mastermind status at entering guarded buildings, because the alternative, that the Joker had warped the minds of security guards or patients, was just too terrifying to accept.  
  
All of this thinking after work just made Jon’s head hurt, and he fell in a heap onto his favorite couch, situated in the dead center of his apartment, the one he bought from Ikea so many years ago, when he had just moved to Gotham. Its familiar Jon-shaped dents and grooves molded into him like a warm hug, calming him immediately.  
  
Suddenly, Jon felt his phone begin to buzz in his pocket. With a groan, he reached into the back pocket of his slacks and retrieved his iPhone. With a frown imprinting into his features, he noticed that the call was coming from a blocked number.  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the phone. “This is Dr. Jon Toews, speaking?” He questioned in a forced polite tone.  
  
“I leave you by yourself for a few weeks, and we’re back to _Dr._ Jonathan? Have I not taught you anything? Those who have a _Dr._ title? They don’t seem to last long in this town.” The Joker snickered, and Jon could hear the pop of his mouth, most likely his tongue moistening the make-up.  
  
“Yeah well you made sure of that, didn’t you? Blowing up Gotham Memorial Hospital?” Jon thoughtlessly retorted in an attempt to cover his shock at the voice of the Joker.  
  
“Ah, but that’s just what I did, wasn’t it? I blew up the _hospital_. I didn’t blow up any of the disease infested creatures that inhabit it, just the building itself. I gave them plenty of warning of what was going to happen, and they evacuated the building accordingly. I even hitched a ride on one of the school buses!” Jon could easily visualize the Joker emphatically nodding his head while jutting his lower lip out.  
  
“You’re wrong. Harvey Dent is missing. They say he got out of the hospital on the news but I don’t believe it. If he got out of the hospital alive, then there would be televised coverage of him.”  
  
The Joker let out an excited chuckle. “Oh he got out, I made sure of that myself. Maybe it’s just that he isn’t running back to his dedicated little lambs.”  
  
“What did you do to him?” Jon questioned lowly.  
  
“Oh, nothing that would physically harm him. You see, Harvey Dent was a man of plans, just as the rest of them. All I did was enlighten him on the failures of every single one of them. And you know what? He recognized my vision very quickly. He understands the world for what it truly is.” The Joker added with subdued excitement.  
  
“And that is?” Jon prompted.  
  
“Come on Doc, can’t reveal all my secrets. But isn’t that what you paid your Ivy League university tens of thousands of dollars to do? Dissect my prose, attitude, and body gestures? What do you think is wrong with me?” The Joker taunted.  
  
Jon could discern immediately that the Joker was attempting to bombard Jon with new information to change the subject of conversation. “It is my belief that you suffer from a manic state of depression, delusions of grandeur, likely as a result of an antisocial personality disorder.”  
  
“Wow, doc. Got anything else to slap on? You see what you want to see, what you specialize in. I’m undefinable to the masses, a _Joker_ of all trades, if you will. I’m everyone’s worst case scenario.” The Joker chortled in sinister delight.  
  
“Everyone is defined by something, and have a distinct tell to their actions. You’re a bit more complicated than the others, but you do have a raison d’être. I’ll find it out,” Jon responded, determined to uncover the story behind the make-up and the psychopathic actions.  
  
“Oh, really? _Really?_ You want to figure me out Doc?” The Joker questioned, amusement shining through the phone. “What else is new? But the question is, what sets you apart from the other monkeys with notepads that have dissected my brain in the past? How do I know I can trust you with my diagnosis?” The Joker cackled in delight.  
  
“Because I won’t give up. I’ll explore everything to figure you out Joker. I’ll help you at Arkham; rehabilitate you,” Jon reasoned.  
  
“Yes, yes. Of course you will,” The Joker sighed along with Jon’s plan. “Don’t worry dearest, your ‘I will save the world with a bit of medication and talking’ scheme isn’t lost on me. I’m all for it.” He nodded assuredly, to convince Jon of his statement.  
  
“Well, listen. Though this conversation has been particularly riveting, I’m out at the moment, and can’t talk to you any longer. Uh, bye?” Jon tried.  
  
“Oh, good show, but no dice. I know you’re not out. I can imagine you’re sitting on that oh so comfy sofa of yours in your living room. I quite enjoyed the nap I took on it this afternoon during my little field trip.” The Joker snickered.  
  
“What? Why were you in my home? Is there anything dangerous in here?” Jon bolted upright from his comfy position on the couch.  
  
“Why would you think that dearest Jonathan?” The Joker questioned earnestly. “All I wanted was to get to know my future therapist a little bit better. To be completely honest, the only thing that really stood out for me in that shell of a home was your comfy couch. The rest, well, could use a little work.”  
  
Jon inhaled quickly, the thought of the Joker, in _his _apartment, was making him sick to his stomach. The Joker interrupted him mid-thought: “oh, but don’t you worry, I’m up for the challenge! A little…re-decoration never accidently killed anyone.” The Joker added on with a subdued chuckle.__  
  
“There will be no 're-decoration' in my home. You won’t be coming back here.” Jon warned in a low voice.  
  
“Is that a threat or a challenge? Because I find that threats never work in their intended way towards me. But a challenge…I’m always game for those.” The Joker retaliated in an even voice.  
  
After a short pause, with no dialog from either men, the Joker sighed. “Challenge it is. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”  
  
The next thing Jon heard was the dial tone in his ear.  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When Jon returned from Arkham Island the next day, he immediately noticed the empty space where his couch used to sit in front of the TV. Too dumbfounded to utter a word, he gripped his hair in panic, and let out a frustrated yell to the empty apartment.

Though trivial, he ran through the apartment, in a futile attempt to find his missing sofa, but no dice. It was missing.

And, one could say he had a _hunch_ as to who it was.

A quick scan around the apartment confirmed that nothing else was out of order, just the missing couch.

 _That bastard_ , Jon mentally heaved. But on the very slim bright side, there was nothing else missing from his apartment, only what the Joker mentioned in their brief, but unsettling phone call. That just went to further validate Jon’s theory that the Joker was not motivated by the vices of the mob; the money, the reputation, the revenge. He just _did_ , because it amused him.

In the center of the plot where the couch used to inhabit, there was a note left for Jonathan. He scanned it: 

_Dearest Jonathan,_ 
_I heard that mental stimulation is used as a good means of distraction for a patient to keep their mind off their mental illness. Maybe we should test this theory out?_ 
_Hint: MORE CHALLENGES! I find that I am surprisingly good at them. Especially when I exploit my opponent’s weaknesses._ 
_Such as their work schedule._ 
_I’ll be seeing you. Sooner than you think. Think maybe two days…yeah, I like the sound of that._ 
_-J_ 


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  
  
Jon was fuming.  
  
Three calls, and 10 emails later, he was informed that Ikea no longer carried the sofa he previously had in his apartment.  
  
There was obviously no sign that the Joker would be willing to give it up, for all Jon knew, he was fucking setting it on fire as Jon desperately called Ikea like an idiot. To put it simply, Jon did not like change. He particularly did not like being forced into change.  
  
But here he was, standing in the empty space where his couch used to rest. Couch-less.  
  
He’d been thinking about it the last couple of days, how would he get into contact with the Joker?  
  
He didn’t know where the guy lived, the cellphone he called him on was disposable, so there wouldn’t be the possibility of tracing the phone call, even if he could convince someone in the GCPD that the Joker had a weird obsession with him. _Shit,_ he thought. _How the hell am I going to get my couch back?_  


**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Not necessarily my favourite of the installments of Warpaint, but I had to get the information out there somehow,  
>   
> The next installment in Warpaint should be up soon!  
> 


End file.
